


Confessions of an Agent in Love

by sunny_flower_sam



Series: Confessions Of [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: A little comfort, Actually unrequited love, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, I Don't Know Why This Was Therapeutic, Interrogation, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Mild Language, One (1) death joke, Spencer Doesn't Feel The Same Way, Spencer Reid is a sweetheart, The BAu - Freeform, admitting feelings, agents in their feelings, being spencer's friend isn't a consolation prize, forced confessions, friendzoned, no happy ending, reader smokes, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 16:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30058041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunny_flower_sam/pseuds/sunny_flower_sam
Summary: “Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back… then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.”Y/N has been a part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI for four years, three months, and sixteen days.Y/N has been in love with Dr Spencer Reid, the youngest member of the BAU, for four years, three months, and fourteen days.ORY/N has too much in common with their latest unsub, and it leads to a series of reluctant confessions that put their unsub's actual murder confession low on the list of Spencer Reid's priorities.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Series: Confessions Of [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2212086
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Confessions of an Agent in Love

**Author's Note:**

> sorry in advance, this is just pure bs x

You had been a part the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI for four years, three months, and sixteen days.

You had been in love with Dr Spencer Reid, the youngest member of the BAU, for four years, three months, and fourteen days.

Obviously, you were instantly attracted to him as soon as he introduced himself with that self-conscious, beautiful smile and signature awkward wave. You’d watched as he put his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet as he rambled on about handshakes and germs and kissing.

You’d watched as he brushed his hair out of his eyes, and wondered how those long, slender fingers would feel in your own hair. Blinking, you’d shoved that thought into the recesses of your mind, along with any part of you that found the young genius even somewhat interesting. You weren’t going to make a fool of yourself by trying anything with a co-worker. You’d already learned the vital lesson “don’t screw the crew” the hard way before.

And then, on your third day working with the team and your second on a disturbing case in Florida, Spencer had deposited a takeaway cup of coffee beside the multiple files in disarray on the table in front of you. You had smiled gratefully, taken a small sip, and –

“Oat milk,” Your nose scrunched in surprise, “How did you know?”

Spencer smiled nervously, fingers tapping at the side of his thigh in some kind of pattern you couldn’t identify.

“You are lactose intolerant, that wasn’t difficult to deduce. You always ask for soy, but you don’t actually enjoy it. You always look like you’ve eaten a lemon when you drink it. So I figured your usual alternative must be more uncommon, and from there I just… guessed.” His hands moved excitedly as he explained.

You were quiet for a long time, too shocked and touched to speak.

Spencer began to get nervous again the longer you stayed silent.

“I-I’m sorry, Y/L/N. I know we’re not supposed to profile each other but I figured with something as simple as beverage choice – “

You raised a hand, cutting him off quickly, “Don’t apologise! You were absolutely right. I can’t stand any other milk alternative. I don’t even like oat that much either but it’s the only one that doesn’t taste or make me feel gross. It was really thoughtful of you to notice that, Doc.”

The man opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You watched as the prettiest shade of red spread across his face, and a shy smile slowly made itself known.

 _Oh, God._ You thought to yourself. _There it is. There it be. I’m in love with a stupidly smart, kind, and gorgeous man way out of my league that I’ve known for all of forty-eight hours and am strictly forbidden to have any sort of non-platonic relationship with ever. And I’m head-over-heels because of a fake dairy product. Typical._

_\-----_

It really was just your luck that you found yourself in this situation. Still, you never acted on your feelings towards the young agent, already an expert at compartmentalising your emotions neatly into a box and ignoring them until the end of time.

You made fast friends of all the members of the BAU and became much closer to Spencer. You weren’t best friends in the way he and JJ or he and Morgan were, more on the same par as Emily, but that suited you just fine. You went out of your way to avoid seeing him one-on-one outside of work but were always amiable and more than just polite acquaintances in group settings. You laughed at his science jokes, made an effort to never cut him off whenever he went on a tangent, and played chess with him on the jet after the harder cases to let him know he wasn’t alone. Everything was perfect, and your heart no longer felt like it was in your throat whenever you were in the profiler’s presence. Friendship was all you were ever going to get with the man, and his friendship was a precious, tender thing – hardly a cross to bear.

And then Maeve happened. And it was like your whole world shifted. You had always known, in an abstract sort of way, that Spencer must have had some semblance of a dating life. Morgan liked to joke about his lack of sexual prowess, but the genius was undeniably handsome, and you knew he would be a respectful and loving partner. Still, knowing and seeing were two very different things. Spencer never mentioned anyone, and you never saw any evidence of a love life. So out of sight, out of mind it was. You couldn’t understand how you could be so blind, so _wrong_.

Seeing him in pain broke your heart in two, and in the moment, you couldn’t even bring yourself to be fazed at the reason. During the entire situation, it only made sense that you were entirely focused on finding this woman who meant so much to Spencer, on making sure she was safe and therefore Spencer’s heart was safe. There was no thought, no _time_ for thought of your own fragile heart splintering little by little every moment that passed by where he was so obviously in love with someone else.

He was never the same after she died. Seeing how deeply a man like Spencer Reid could love someone he had never even met hurt more than you could’ve ever imagined. But you weren’t selfish enough to tell him that, and so you buried the hurt and guilt and doubt down with the love and quiet adoration until it all became the same kind of numb.

Two years since _her_ , and things were okay. Spencer was okay, even though he was even quieter and more prone to depressive episodes. But that was fine, you could handle that and empathise without it tearing you up inside. He never really talked about Maeve directly, and maybe as his friend you should have encouraged him to, but you could never bring yourself to be anything other than thankful for that small mercy. You were only so good of an actor. You had somehow managed to fool a team of professional profilers, but your luck was bound to run out at some point.

Reflecting on the past and on all the milestones of your unrequited love with Spencer was something you found yourself doing often these days. It seemed that whenever you were alone, your thoughts drifted to the young doctor and his fluffy hair and perpetually sad eyes. You swore up and down it didn’t hurt so much anymore, that time eased the sting of your admiration being unnoticed and unreturned, and mostly you were telling the truth. Still, there were nights, after cases involving children or abuse or a body count that was too high to not feel responsible for, where you broke down as soon as you were in the comfort of your own home. On those nights, you’d polish off half a bottle of merlot and cry yourself to sleep. Not just for Spencer, but for the general feelings of shame and inadequacy and loneliness that loving him so silently for so long had created.

Still, all this internal dialogue and cliché wrestling with your feelings couldn’t distract from the fact that you had a job to do, and lives depended on you doing it well. Which brought you to your current predicament.

\-----

“You’re in love with him.”

You narrowed your eyes at the unsub in custody that you were currently interviewing. Evaluating her, you shrugged nonchalantly.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” You responded coolly.

The brunette, haggard woman nodded to the door Spencer had just stepped out of.

“The doctor,” She enunciated slowly, as if she were speaking to a child, “You are in love with him.”

You weighed your options carefully. This woman had stalked and killed thirteen athletic women in their mid-thirties with blonde hair and blue eyes. All because the real object of her affections, a Daniel West, had fallen in love with and married – you guessed it – an athletic woman in her mid-thirties with blonde hair and blue eyes. A bit extreme, really. Still, she was a lonely and desperate woman who would only talk if you gained her trust. Telling her you were also dealing with unrequited love would definitely do that. She would know you weren’t lying either. The problem with that, however, was that Spencer would also know you weren’t lying.

“If I were, I wouldn’t say it when he’s listening,” You settled on diplomatically, hoping that would be suggestive enough to build rapport with the unsub but also vague enough that Spencer would assume you were faking it.

The woman smiled like the cat who ate the canary, and leaned forward across the table, “Tell me, Agent Y/L/N. Don’t you get jealous? Possessive? He _is_ delicious.”

You internally grimaced at how lustful she sounded but did a fairly good job of schooling your outward expression. You couldn’t help your eyes from hardening though, or your posture from becoming stiffer and more formal.

“Dr Reid is a handsome man. He is also respectful, generous, and intelligent. He has many positive attributes,” You listed off casually, leaning back in your chair, “I don’t know anything about his dating life, however. So, nothing to be jealous of.”

The unsub’s smirk turned even more shit-eating, and you felt itchy just looking at it.

“And if, somehow, there _was_ something to be jealous of?” She asked too innocently.

“There isn’t,” You stated firmly, and then questioned, “But you had something to be jealous of, didn’t you?”

The woman leaned back on her chair, crossing her arms defensively, “He was _mine_ , and that bitch _stole_ him from me.”

Her tone was bitter, you noted. She spoke as if she were fighting with a child over a toy.

“The people we love are not objects that can be stolen from us,” You said evenly, “They can’t help falling in love with someone else, just as much as we can’t help falling in love with them.”

God, this case really had to hit home in all the worst ways. The words you told her were also words you had been forced to repeat to yourself for over two years now until it had become a mantra of sorts.

“You sound like you know the feeling… intimately,” The unsub picked at her cuticles in an effort to feign boredom, “So, tell me the truth, agent. Were you ever jealous? Jealous to the point where you wanted to make someone hurt? Make _her_ hurt?”

You thought on it for a long time. You had no choice but to answer her question as honestly as possible without giving away the details of what had transpired with Maeve.

“I’m jealous every single moment of every single day,” You finally confessed, “I’m jealous of the barista he smiles at when he orders his morning coffee, because, shit, I wish I could be the first one to see - and cause - it every day. I’m jealous when he brushes his hair out of his eyes because I wish his hands would run through _my_ hair like that. I’m jealous of his cardigans because I want to be the one holding him that closely. I’m jealous of his favourite book because I would cross oceans for the chance to be his favourite anything. And yes, God, I was so jealous of _her_ that I couldn’t eat or sleep for _months_ because all I could think about was how I could never compare. It’s been over four years and there are still days I can’t even look him in the eye, and nights I spend crying myself to sleep from how clearly I’m _not enough_.”

You knew you had already said too much, and you needed to redirect the conversation to the unsub. You could deal with the consequences of your confession later.

“But,” You chose your words carefully, letting them roll around in your mouth before speaking aloud, “I’m not jealous enough to _hurt_ another, as you so aptly put it. I’m not, and I never will be, jealous enough to take away the things – or people – that make him happy. Loving someone isn’t about owning them. _He isn’t mine._ ”

You had obviously known and come to terms with it a long time ago, but still. Having to admit it out loud really sucked.

“Daniel was supposed to be mine,” The unsub whined in a way that made you suppress a shiver.

You were getting impatient now. Opening the case file you had brought with you into the interrogation room, you flipped it to the photo of the last victim’s battered body and laid the gruesome scene out in front of her.

“Is that why you killed thirteen women, including Mary Landon?” You asked plainly.

She avoided the question, but her lips curled in disdain “She was so… _tacky_. I don’t know what my darling Daniel saw in her.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide,” You goaded lightly, “Mary made Daniel happy. _Incandescently_ , if their Facebook posts are anything to go by.”

With that, you reached across and turned a few more pages until you both had a clear view of the printout of the couple’s engagement announcement on social media.

You watched as the unsub struggled to suppress her rage, “He was too good for her anyway! She deserved to die!”

“She was a young woman in love,” You chided her, “And the twelve other women you murdered didn’t even _know_ Daniel. There was nothing to be jealous of in those cases.”

She didn’t even try to deny it, jumping straight into justifying her actions to you, “Practice makes perfect.”

You wanted to throw up at the casual, uncaring way the unsub said those words.

“I didn’t mean to practice so much,” She shrugged as if it really wasn’t her fault, “But I won’t lie, somewhere around the fifth girl, it got kind of _fun_.”

“So, you admit to killing thirteen women, including Mary Landon? And being fully sane and in control of your actions when you did so?” You pressed, just wanting to get a straightforward confession already so this could be over.

The other woman looked at you curiously for a moment before smirking once again, “Tell you what, Agent Y/L/N. I’ll write a full confession, leaving no details out _if_ you make a confession of your own.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from glaring, “I think I’ve made enough confessions today.”

“Oh no, agent,” The woman got comfortable in her chair again, “I think you need to say it properly. Out loud.”

If looks could kill the woman across from you would be dead and buried, but she paid you no mind.

“Ah,” She exclaimed, coming to a realisation that clearly pleased her, “You’ve never said it, have you? Not to anyone. Not even to _yourself_.”

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to remember that violence was never the answer, especially as a member of law enforcement.

Taking another breath for no real purpose other than postponing the inevitable just a little while longer, you finally spoke the words that would seal your fate.

“I am in love with Dr Spencer Reid, federal agent of the BAU.” You said it like it was a matter of fact, like it was as trivial as saying it was raining outside.

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” She asked in a sickly-sweet voice.

“Your turn,” You replied monotonously, not breaking eye contact.

She leaned even further across the table until she was practically whispering, “I killed all thirteen of those blonde bitches, including and _especially_ that cunt, Mary Landon.”

\-----

Outside of the police precinct, you leaned against a backwall and took a drag of your cigarette. You only smoked when you were ridiculously stressed, and that was only the polite way to describe your current emotional state.

Your mind raced as you tried in vain to convince yourself that you could brush it off as a ruse, a trick to get the unsub to trust you and boast about her problem solving of your shared dilemma. If there was one thing Spencer wasn’t, it was stupid. It didn’t take a profiler - or a genius - to know you had been telling the truth the entire time you were in that room.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the man of the hour until he had sidled right up next to you and cleared his throat. Neither of you spoke for a while. You had nothing more to say on the matter he would so clearly bring up, so you just stood and waited as he gathered his thoughts. You couldn’t bear to look at him.

“So,” He started awkwardly, hands shoved into the pockets of his oversized, lavender cardigan.

“So…” You repeated, trailing off at the end. You didn’t often wish to be apart from Spencer, quite the opposite, but right now you would pay actual money to be as far away from this conversation as possible.

He seemed to struggle with choosing his words for a moment before he said, “You were telling the truth.”

It wasn’t a question, but you still answered it like one.

“Yes,” You replied simply. There was no need for further explanation, you’d done more than enough of it during the interrogation.

Another pause as the resident genius gathered his thoughts, and you took the opportunity to inhale more smoke.

“Those will kill you. Every cigarette takes eleven minutes off your life and –“

“All the more reason to smoke,” You joked darkly. Spencer had never quite gotten your humour, and the moment you saw him open his mouth to chastise you, you cut in.

“Say what you came out here to say, Spence. I’m tired so make it quick.”

He looked lost for a second, fiddling with the large buttons on his cardigan, undoing and redoing them over and over.

“Four years?” He finally asked.

You nodded, “The oat milk.”

He scrunched his nose in confusion for a moment before his face cleared as he understood what I was getting at.

“But that was…” He uttered helplessly.

You hummed in agreement, “We had barely known each other for forty-eight hours. I said thank you and you blushed, and then… I thought about you and I never _stopped_ thinking about you.”

You finally looked at him properly, noticing how his cheeks turned bright red as that brilliant brain of his processed your words.

“I-I… I never even suspected,” He stammered, half mortified.

You tore your eyes away from him and inspected your Doc Martins as if they were the most interesting things in the world, “Yeah, well. Turns out I’m pretty good at compartmentalising.”

“I made you cry,” He sounded ashamed, and you knew he was blaming himself for every hurt you might have ever experienced in his vicinity right then.

You waved him off, “I made myself cry. Really, it’s okay.”

Spencer bit his lip and wrung out his hands, remaining unconvinced, “I made you _cry_ , and I was so focused on me and… and _Maeve_ – “. His voice cracked on his dead lover’s name, and you tried to ignore the way your heart cracked with it.

You put a hand on his arm to stop his nervous movements and forced him to look you in the eye.

“Really, Spence. It’s okay. I know you don’t feel the same way. And I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t hurt, but I promise I’m doing my best to move on, and I don’t hate you for only seeing me as a friend. I know more than anyone that you can’t choose who you give your heart to.”

The man next to you winced a bit at that, but you could tell that you had at least sort of gotten through to him on a logical level. None of this was his fault.

“I’m really flattered that you feel that way about me,” He said softly, still maintaining eye contact. He stood a bit closer than he had been, and you focused on making sure your breathing was even, knowing he would still see the tell-tale way your pupils dilated.

“I’m really flattered,” He said again, and you knew what was coming, “I see you as a good friend, Y/N. I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose your friendship because of this.”

You let out a breath that caused your fringe to puff out and then settle back down on your forehead.

You smiled sadly, squeezing his arm in comfort, “I know. And your friendship is no burden. I’ve never been upset at being ‘friend zoned’. It is a great privilege to be in your life in any capacity.”

Finishing your cigarette, you flicked the butt onto the concrete pavement and grinded it under your heel, before turning to Spencer.

“I love you. And when you’re insecure or embarrassed because you think you’re too weird or nerdy or screwed up, I want you to remember that. Remember that I am living proof that you, Spencer Reid, are so very loveable.”

With that, you had well and truly said everything you needed to say. So, you turned around and walked away from the love of your life as confidently as you could. You would definitely be comforting yourself with alcohol and sad breakup songs later, but for now, there was paperwork to do and coffee to drink. You told yourself you weren’t disappointed when Emily handed you a soy latte.

**Author's Note:**

> i could possibly write a sequel/happy ending to this but i also like how it is so we'll see.  
> lmk what u think x


End file.
